Another Shot
by SophieAnne17
Summary: Alak has an obsession, but unfortunately, she refuses to cooperate. A less-than-fluffy take on how Alak and Christie met and fell in love.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor did I create the characters or the world of Defiance. I'm just playing with them for fun, and not profit.

_Author's Note_: I'm actually surprised I wrote this. I just recently finished Airtime, which is more of an adult story, and I thought I would 'take a break' by writing something like this. Writing sex scenes makes me a little anxious I guess. I'm so in love with this ship – it consumes me. I can't complain about being inspired, though. This is less fluffy, less romantic take on how the two fell in love. Not that fluffy isn't awesome, I just need small doses. I'm a little too jaded I guess. Enjoy!

* * *

The first time I saw her, I was hungover like a dog.

We stumbled into her diner at some ungodly hour in the morning, avoiding going home so that we could avoid the inevitable questions of our parents. When she walked up to our table, wearing a blue plaid shirt and stained apron, she looked at us like any other human would. It was the way you would look at a tiger in a cage, if a tiger had killed some member of your family.

She pulled a small notebook out of the back pocket of her jeans, unsmiling.

"What can I get for you?" she asked in monotone. My friends ordered, and at this point, I hadn't really seen her yet. She was just another human with a stick up her ass.

"I'll have the, ahh, what do you call them," I began. This place evidently served only human food, except for a few commonalities tacked on as an afterthought. "Pancakes."

"Mhm," she said. "Water? Coffee?"

I looked up, and _that_ was when I really saw her. Her eyes were tired but she was pretty, and her lips were bold and shapely, like they'd been drawn on by a contemporary artist. She tightened them when I didn't answer her.

"Water? Coffee?" she said again.

I was caught up suddenly wondering if I'd seen her before, realizing that, while I probably had, it was more like the way people saw trees and heard birds. There, but not there.

"Both," I answered.

Later, as I walked myself home, ducking my head inside a trash can to throw up the half-digested pancakes, I thought about her again. It was a nagging thought, and it didn't go away, even after I told myself that it was ridiculous and impulsive and I needed to stop.

* * *

"So, what's your deal?"

I looked up, shocked that she was talking to me. The place was quiet, with just a few hunched-over bodies filling the booths and chairs. She was refilling my coffee mug, her voice low and accusatory, as if she didn't want anyone else to hear.

"What do you mean?" I asked. I tried to sound innocent, maybe even a little annoyed.

"I mean that you come here, you order coffee, you sit around by yourself," she said, leaning back. "You overtip and leave. And you keep coming back. You're _always_ here."

Despite the truth of this, I felt a little offended. It hurt to know that I'd been so obvious.

"Is there a problem with that?" I asked, trying to sound a little angry. She narrowed her eyes, staring me down suspiciously.

"No," she said, quickly, and walked away.

I stared down into my lukewarm coffee. This was not exactly going as well as I'd hoped.

* * *

I cut my trips to the diner down to twice a week, and began to think harder. She worked at the diner, but she had to go somewhere else, too. Somewhere I could blend in a little easier.

I took up cards at the Need/Want. It was an expensive hobby, but there were only so many dance clubs in Defiance, and it seemed likely that human girls would make their rounds there at some point. If not tomorrow then the next day, or the day or week after that.

And I was right.

I was already half-drunk when she came in, surrounded by human girls, friends, I should say. She was wearing a pale orange top that cut off at her shoulders, and a long gold chain that bounced lightly against the curves of her chest. I had never really noticed a girl that looked better in gold than in silver.

I turned around, staring at my cards, already feeling a slight sense of panic rise from my stomach to my chest. I'd been waiting for this moment, but I hadn't exactly planned what I would do when it came.

So I ignored her, laying down a few rounds and eventually making my way to the bar. I stood there, trying to look unassuming, until she walked up a few feet away and ordered a drink.

"You're that waitress," I said, and immediately wanted to shoot myself.

She turned to look at me, and it was clear she had not wanted to be reminded that she was a waitress, not when she had drawn on cat eyes and brushed gold powder on the corners of her eyelids.

"You're that creepy guy who hangs out at the diner," she shot back. My heart fell a little.

"Drinking coffee is creepy?" I repeated scathingly.

"Drinking coffee alone is," she snapped.

"You're drinking alone," I said, gesturing to her glass.

"I'm not here alone!" she said, throwing her hand back toward her human friends, some of which had curled up on futons with human boys, some of whom were dancing in the jerky, convulsive way that human danced.

"Neither am I," I said. I glanced toward the card table, where the game was still underway.

Silence fell between us, and I realized there was probably no way to salvage this conversation. I paid for my drink and left.

* * *

She didn't even ask what I would have when she walked up to my table, just stood there and stared at me as if I'd crawled in through her bedroom window rather than visited a _shtako_ diner.

"Coffee?" she asked dryly.

"Actually," I asked, trying to sound just a tiny bit cheerful, "Could you recommend some type of traditional human breakfast food?"

I thought she might perk up at this, but she started at me as if I were crazy.

"How about," I scanned the menu, feeling suddenly panicky, "A salad?"

"You don't have a salad for breakfast," she replied, tapping her pen against the notepad.

"You don't?" I repeated. "Why not?" This was a shame, as a salad was about as close to Castithan cuisine as you could get, other than a steak or roast or fish, or some other simple slice of meat.

"You just don't," she said. She must've passed out last night without washing her face, because there was still gold dust underneath her eyes. "Dressing?"

* * *

At first I worried that she wouldn't come back to the Need/Want, but this was just arrogant of me. It was stupid to think that she would avoid the only decent club in town just because I went there and insulted her once.

When she came back, it was a Saturday and she was wearing black, a kind of black top that hung off the side of her shoulder and dark jeans.

It had become clear over the past few weeks that a conversation was not going to just magically blossom between us. I had to be direct, which was terrifying, but at least had the potential to end my self-esteeming-gutting diner visits.

I waited again until she was alone at the bar, and then I walked up to her, as casually as possible.

"Would you dance with me?" I blurted out, just as she turned her head to look at me.

She was surprised. Her eyes widened, and for a moment her callousness disappeared – out of pure shock, I imagine. It only took half a second for her suspicion to flood back in.

"No," she said, and took a sip.

Now I was frustrated.

"Why not?" I stammered, and immediately voices flooded my head telling myself to reel it in, that I was making a fool of myself.

I think she had hoped I would just walk away again. She half-turned, reluctantly, to face me.

"Because I don't know you," she said, as if this explained everything. As if after one or two conversations we could be friends.

"So you don't dance with strangers, then?" I insisted.

"No," she replied. She looked uncomfortable, as if she wanted to look around for her friends.

"Let me guess, you also don't meet new people?" I knew I was pushing it, but it angered me on same level, the fact that I'd never even had a chance.

"This is a small town," she replied coldly. "There aren't that many new people to meet."

You mean there aren't many humans, I thought. I tried to be calm; my temper was getting the best of me.

"So what, then?" I asked. I was getting desperate; I was feeling angry and miserable and cheated all at once. "Are you afraid of me?"

This seemed to take her aback, and she widened her eyes. Then she slammed down her drink and smiled, the wide, ironic kind of smile that comes before laughing at someone. It was a shame, because her mouth was so pretty.

"What is this?" she said, gesturing broadly toward me. "Are you on some kind of mission to fuck every species in Defiance? Is that why you keep bothering me?"

I opened my mouth to snap something back, then closed it. I hadn't expected things to go quite this far, quite this badly.

"No," I said, swallowing hard.

"So why do you keep talking to me, then?"

She stared at me for a long moment, and I thought about what I could say, and how ridiculous it would sound having been so recently kicked to the curb.

"So what you're saying is that because I asked you to dance, I must be some kind of sexual deviant?" I asked. I wanted to sound angry, fierce and a little intimidating, but what came out was more humble.

"I just don't understand what you want," she said, staring down into her drink.

I was out of words now, completely at a loss. I threw down some scrip on the bar and left again.

* * *

I didn't go back to the diner, but I did go back to the Need/Want, because it would've looked strange if I didn't. I half-hoped she wouldn't come. I thought that maybe, if I didn't see her for weeks on end, I would stop thinking about her.

Of course, it was only a matter of time until she came back, the same chattering friends surrounding her.

I resolved not to talk to her, not to make things worse. The only possible outcome of pursuing her now seemed to be making an idiot of myself, and I had done enough of that already.

When I became bored with cards, and tired of trying so hard not to look in her direction, I decided that I needed a Castithan girl.

It was easy enough to find one, and all I really had to do was reach out my hand and smile at her. There were certain advantages to having my last name, though they were evidently worthless in human eyes.

She was pretty, but not remarkable, and I found it hard to look at her as we danced. I tried to look out over the crowd instead, lifting and shifting my arms slowly to match her movements, letting a trancelike state wash over me. This was what I loved about dancing, this momentary calm. It was a pity I couldn't dance alone.

I looked at my partner and then again at the crowd, and that was when I thought I saw her. She was at the bar, but she was staring in my direction. Perhaps directly at me.

I tried to meet her eyes, but when I caught sight of her again, she was in profile and looking away.

The song ended, and I had to fight back the urge to walk over to her. You're imagining things, I told myself. Just wishful thinking, Alak.

But I didn't listen to myself, and I went up to the bar, standing far enough away so that it wasn't obvious that I intended to speak with her. She saw me out of the corner of her eye, and her face fell.

"Another shot, please," she called out to the bartender.

I stood there, waiting with my half-empty drink, but I didn't want to say anything. I just wanted to see if she would look at me with anything but contempt.

She got her shot, throwing her head back and taking it as hard as any man I'd ever seen. I had to admit, it was rather hot.

Almost immediately, she turned toward me, acting as if she'd noticed my presence the entire time and had only now deigned to speak with me.

"Your dancing is a little strange," she said, looking straight into my eyes. And then she walked away.

Her voice hadn't been warm. If anything, her expression was blank, void of emotion. But then again, this was a step up from disgust.

I smiled to myself. I would be back at Need/Want soon.

* * *

Obviously not the end! I just can't stop myself when it comes to this couple. Reviews are greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor did I create the characters or the world of Defiance. I'm just playing with them for fun, and not for profit.

_Author's Note_: It's strange to be writing a chaptered fic. I feel committed now. I have to say, Alak's POV is much more fun to write from, but I enjoy playing with Christie's character, since her time on the show is so brief. I don't think any woman could grow up in a town like Defiance without some street smarts. Enjoy!

* * *

It felt like everyone knew.

Maybe my friends knew. If my friends knew, then my brothers knew. Nothing was kept secret for long in this town.

I tried to resist the temptation to wring my hands, to twirl my hair around my finger. To look nervous in any way. Even sitting here, in a chair in a dark corner of the club, I felt exposed.

Alak Tarr, showing up at the diner four days a week. Alak Tarr, staring at me, talking to me, asking me to _dance_. And the more I rebuffed him, the more he seemed to pursue me, which only seemed to confirm that he had ulterior motives. Any other guy would've long given up by now.

I shouldn't have talked to him, I said to myself. I shouldn't have talked to him. Maybe it had made me feel good, getting a little bit of attention, and that was why I'd felt the smallest twinge of disgust when I'd seen him dancing with that overeager Castithan girl. Their dancing was always a little bit hypnotic, but watching him .. and then I'd _said something_.

There was always the chance that he'd given up. Why drag some girl out to dance if he hadn't? He never did that. He always just sat there, playing cards until he could catch me alone.

If he does talk to me, I thought – and he probably won't - I'm going to end this.

I wanted a chance to end this. Surely this was why the thought of him avoiding me now left me feeling so cold.

I stood up to go to the bar. I needed another drink.

* * *

"Change your mind?"

I'd come to recognize his voice. It was distinctive, fluid and a little low. I held in my breath, turning around.

"My mind about what?" I asked. It was arrogant of him to think that I'd remember him asking me to dance two weeks ago, even if I did.

"Trying something new?" he asked. He smiled a little. He was incredibly hard to read. Maybe it had something to do with his eyes, so light that they seemed to shift color along with the lights in the club, like mirrors. Sometimes he seemed so full of himself, but at others, he seemed a little nervous. Maybe he was just a bad actor.

"You mean trying out a new guy?" I spat. I wanted to sound angry, disgusted. I needed to send a clear message.

"I meant trying out a new dance," he said, and it had worked. He sounded warier of me.

"Listen," I said, keeping my voice low. Already I felt a thousand pairs of eyes on me. "Why don't you just tell me what you really want?"

He tilted his head slightly to the side, his hair slipping down across his shoulder.

"I thought we had already established that it isn't to fuck you," he said, and his smile was back, but barely. I hated that he was telling jokes when I felt so nervous.

"I'm serious," I said, swallowing hard. "Tell me what you want or leave me the hell alone."

This seemed to do the trick, wiping the smile off his face in an instant. But then he looked confused, which made me feel confused, which made me angrier.

"It can't be that I just want to dance with you?" he asked. How stupid did he honestly think I was?

"Fine then," I said, picking up my drink. I turned to walk back to my corner.

I was shocked, frozen in place when I felt his hand on my arm, stopping me.

I spun around, breathing hard. I didn't think it would really go this far, not in the middle of the club, this public place.

"Don't touch me," I hissed, shrugging his hand away. His eyes widened, and he took a step back.

"Can I just talk to you, then?" he asked, his voice oddly insistent. It almost sounded as if he were _pleading_ with me.

"No, you can't talk to me _here_," I said, gesturing to the people dancing and drinking around us.

He paused for a moment, considering.

"Can we talk somewhere else, then?" he asked.

I sucked in my breath. This guy was on a mission. It was clear he was never going to give it up. I could throw my drink in his face, I could say no a thousand times, I could leave the Need/Want and quit my job. Or I could try to figure out what he had planned, what he wanted from me and why.

"Fine," I said, and even as I said it I couldn't believe the word was escaping my lips. "Meet me at the diner, a half hour after closing. Tomorrow night."

He looked genuinely surprised. Pleased, even. I tried not to think how I felt about that.

"Fine, then," he said. His illusive smile was back for a moment. And then he drifted off, disappearing back into the crowd.

* * *

I took my time cleaning up, lingering until everyone else was gone. I turned off most of the lights, then waited, trying to ignore the pressure increasingly building in my chest.

He was right on time, rapping his knuckle softly at the door. I looked at him through the glass panes, taken aback by the way his skin was almost luminous with the bright light directly above him. I didn't think it was ever something I could get used to.

I opened it, terribly conscious of his eyes on me, looking me up and down. He smiled, and I fought not to return it.

"We can sit over here," I said, gesturing to a booth. He slid into it across from me, clasping his hands and resting them on the table.

An uncomfortable silence fell between us. Maybe he wanted to continue pretending to flirt with me, but knew we were past that.

"Did you bring a knife?" I asked, suddenly.

His face fell, and for a moment I regretted what I had said, though I wanted to know. I was afraid, meeting him here alone. I was taking a risk.

His face became emotionless, though his eyes continued to stare into me, hard.

"I always carry a knife," he said, his voice grim. "These are dangerous times. You never know when you might have to protect yourself."

"Can I see it?" I asked.

I thought he might argue with me, but he took it out of his pocket immediately, laying it down on the table with the same devoid expression. I stared at it between us, the blade glowing an eerie blue.

"You are afraid of me," he said. It was not a question.

"You were just saying how you needed to project yourself," I replied lowly. I paused. "Can I touch it?"

He seemed taken aback by this, but pushed it toward me none the less.

"It sounds stupid," I said, picking up the weapon and weighing it my hands. It was heavier than I thought, the brushed silver curves unmistakably alien. "But I always thought these were a little .. beautiful."

"You mean, a little exotic?" he asked.

I couldn't believe I'd said that. I'd agreed to this hoping to be a voice of reason, and now I sounded like a freak.

I dropped the knife, pushing the hilt back towards him.

"It's okay," he said. He slid it towards the salt and pepper so that it was no longer between us, but still well within sight. "You shouldn't be afraid of the things that can hurt you. You should be familiar with them."

"Is that something your father taught you?" I asked coldly. He met my eyes again, sealing his lips.

"It's good advice," he said, straightening his shoulders.

I took in a deep breath. I didn't want to be caught saying any more stupid, unnecessary things.

"Just tell me," I said, slowly, "What your father wants with my father."

I waited. If he was acting, he was brilliant at it. His mouth fell open. He looked down at his hands and then up at me again. The confusion on his face was blatant, though I tried to doubt it, to see otherwise. Another long moment passed.

"Who _is_ your father?" he asked.

I felt myself getting heated again. If he was playing dumb, he had played it to the point of absurdity.

"You mean to say that you've been following me around this whole time, and you don't even know who I am?" I asked, incredulous.

He stared at me as if I were crazy. I felt crazy, feeding him lines that only led him back toward playing innocent.

"I was hoping you'd tell me yourself, at some point," he said. He stared at me, his mouth open, waiting.

"I'm Christie McCawley," I said, crossing my arms and leaning back.

He considered this, a wave of recognition washing over his face. He looked away, opening and closing his mouth as if unsure what to say. He finally looked back at me.

"No wonder you were freaked out that I was talking to you," he said, slowly. "More than your typical human girl would be, anyway."

I bristled at this mention of 'human girl' even as I tried to sort out what I was hearing. It didn't really seem possible.

"So you're telling me that your father didn't put you up to this?" I asked fiercely. "Nothing along the lines of, 'Get close to the Cawley girl, so that I can ..'"

"So that he could what?" he asked in turn. I had expected anger, but instead his voice was genuinely questioning. Maybe even a little hurt.

"I don't know," I said. Manipulate me? I didn't know what the reason would be, but then again, how would I?

Silence fell between us again. I didn't know what to think, let alone what to say. In my head, I was still convinced that he was up to something, that he had some kind of alternate motive. But my gut was pulling me toward something else.

"So let's assume that you didn't know who I was, and your father didn't put you up to this," I began. "How can I trust you?"

He leaned back, considering this. He turned his eyes away as he did, and I thought, perhaps mistakenly, that they looked pained.

"I guess you can't," he said finally. He turned his eyes again to meet mine, staring straight into my face. "I guess you just have to get to know me. Like you would anyone."

But you're not anyone, I thought. You're never going to be just anyone here.

"I don't know if I can," I whispered.

I felt torn. He seemed so sincere. But, then again, that would be the idea. To catch me off guard, play with my emotions.

"I wish you could," he answered, finally.

"This still doesn't answer the question," I began again, hesitantly, "Of why you wanted to talk to me. If not to .. I still don't understand."

He smiled wide, and I thought he might laugh at me, but instead he just let out his breath in an exasperated sigh.

"I just want to, you know," he began haltingly, "Get to know you. Find out what you're into, what you like. What you do when you're not working and partying."

I wanted to ask why, but I knew why. I suppose I'd fought against knowing it, not thinking it was possible. It still seemed impossible, even now.

"But I can't just meet you anywhere," I said, speaking fast. "I can't. If someone saw .. if my brothers found out, or my father .."

I glanced toward the knife, sitting motionless so near us. He followed my gaze.

"We don't have to tell anyone," he said, his voice low and serious. "We can meet wherever you want. I'll meet you wherever you want."

And now suddenly the reality of what was happening hit me, and I felt flustered, blood flooding my cheeks. I could look at him now not as an enemy, but just as another person, because I believed him. Most of me believed him. And even in the dim artificial light, he was suddenly terribly handsome, alien and alluring to me in a way that no one had ever quite been before.

I felt my breath quicken. I was still scared, but for different reasons.

"Okay," I said. I was afraid to look at him, but I raised my eyes. I was surprised to see that he looked a little frightened too. Frightened, but also somehow in awe.

"Okay," he repeated.

He reached out, taking my hand, folding his fingers gently around mine. Somehow, I'd always imagined Castithan skin as being cold, but his hand felt warm and strong. Everything had happened so quickly, and yet this didn't feel wrong. None of it felt wrong.

I stared at our hands, then over at the knife. I needed to be careful.

* * *

Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter! It was really motivating. Every time I got a new review in my inbox I freaked out and tried to savor it. Every bit helps with a ship that's not so popular. Defiance is no Harry Potter :)

Thank you! xoxo


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor did I create the characters or the world of Defiance. I'm just playing with them for fun, and not for profit.

_Author's Note_: I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. It ended up being very fluffy, which isn't inherently a bad thing, but .. fluff just seems to make me question my writing style, and I've been craving writing something darker. The next chapter should fit that bill. I've been tempted to start a new pregnancy story, but I'm trying to put it off since I tend to start half a dozen fics and never finish them. I promise I'll finish this one! Probably!

* * *

Part of me thought she wouldn't come. It felt like I'd only just barely talked her into doing this – whatever 'this' was, whatever we were doing – together. It felt too up in the air to be a date. It felt more like .. a test.

But she did come, kicking up red dust with her shoes as she approached. She was walking into the wind, and was constantly pulling strands of her long, dark hair away from her face.

"Hey," she said, when she finally reached me. She tucked some pieces behind her ear. "This is pretty."

"Yeah," I said, breathing out heavily as I leaned back against the broken fence. Much of the area surrounding Defiance looked like desert or, ironically, jungle. This was something in between, an overgrown field flush with wildflowers. "Pretty. And also isolated."

"Away from prying eyes," she echoed back. Her voice was oddly far away, as if she were lost in thought. She stared out at the flowers, not meeting my gaze. "Should we sit down somewhere?"

"Your choice," I said. I followed her into the field, watching her hands as they swung at her waist, lazily grasping at tufts of grass and just as quickly releasing them. I would've killed to know what she was thinking.

Eventually she decided on a place just over a hillside, out of view of the road. At first, I sat instinctively with my knees in front of me, the way one did during Castithan rituals. When I saw that she had crossed her ankles and sat with her knees spread apart, though, I did the same.

"So," she said, finally looking me in the face. She bit her lip. "What do you want to know about me?"

_Everything_, I thought. Her eyes were lighter in the bright sun, like liquid bronze.

"Tell me what you're into, what you like to do," I said.

"Like my hobbies?" she asked.

"I don't know," I continued. "Just .. what speaks to you."

She thought for a moment, turning her head to the side as she did so.

"Nothing special," she said, finally. "I mean, I don't know. I like to read books."

"What kind of books?" I asked. Already I was wondering if I could get my hands on them, read them and somehow discover a clue about who she was.

"Old books," she said, leaning back. "Like, from before the war. Before everything happened."

"That's still a broad range of books," I prompted.

"Hmm," she said, "I guess history books, non-fiction books. Books with pictures of the way things were. I like to imagine what it was like back then."

I began to feel nervous. Five minutes in, and already we were talking about how my race, and others, had invaded her planet and completely transformed it.

"Why?" I asked, cautiously.

She paused, frowning.

"I guess because it was where my father grew up, and my mother," she began. "It feels as much like heritage as my blood. And it's comforting, sometimes, to think of a place where it was undeniable that I belonged."

I took this in, thinking for a moment.

"I know what you mean," I said, slowly.

She narrowed her eyes, the look behind them shifting from uncertain to suspicious. She thought I was trivializing the terraforming of Earth, everything that had been destroyed.

"I mean," I stammered, "Of course I can't know what it's like to have had a home, and to have lost it in a way that was .. preventable. But my family's home world is gone, too."

She continued to frown, rolling a flower stem between her finger and her thumb.

"I suppose there are certain similarities," she said quietly. She waited a moment before speaking again. "So .. what do you miss about your home world?"

"It's hard to miss what you've never had," I said. "And some things were better left behind, anyway."

"Cleansing ceremonies?" she offered, a bit bitterly.

I sighed. Increasingly, I was feeling trapped. I'd never felt so responsible for a culture that had been created before and without me.

"I don't believe in a lot of it," I offered. "Most of it. I don't believe you can be born into an Iiro. I don't think our blood can define us like that. Just our choices, what we do. Who we want to become."

Christie looked up from her flower, her frown fading just slightly.

"I can agree with that," she said, half-reluctantly, but also as if she were pleasantly surprised.

"What about you?" I asked, leaning forward, trying not to let her eyes look away again. "What do you miss, about your old world?"

She thought for a moment, wistful.

"When I was little," she began, "I was really fascinated with horses. I loved to read about them, look at pictures of them. My father brought me old toys made out of plastic, and wood. I pretended that the gate in our backyard opened to a stable and that I had my own pony."

I searched my mind. Horses, horses. I was sure I had heard of them at some point.

"It's silly, I know," she said quietly, and then I realized she had taken my silence for insult.

"No, no," I said. "I just .. maybe you can show me a picture, sometime? Of these horses?"

She was silent for a moment, and then, suddenly, she was laughing to herself. I watched her smile carefully, wondering if it would stay.

"I forget," she said, still laughing. "I forget that .. anyway. They're these big creatures, that run on four legs. And they're just the size that humans can ride on their backs. And we raised them, and trained them so that we could."

"Interesting," I muttered. I tried to imagine this, but it seemed exceedingly strange, and dangerous. "So then .. are they around, still? Horses?"

Immediately, her smile faded again, and I regretted asking.

"I think so," she started. "I mean, they lived in herds out west, so it's possible. And especially because humans raised them .. maybe they were protected, somewhere. Locked away in someone's barn. Maybe someone rescued them."

"I hope so," I offered, though it seemed far-fetched. But I did hope so, for her sake.

"Anyway," she said again, drawing out the word. "I keep talking about me. But you haven't really said what you're into. What you like."

I grinned. At last, the conversation had come to a point that couldn't make me look bad.

"Earth music," I said.

She laughed, throwing aside her flower.

"Well, I knew _that_," she said, scoffing.

"Oh really?" I asked. "You listen to my radio show, then."

"It's the only radio show in Defiance, so yes, I listen to it," she said, rolling her eyes. Her smile was back, rye and petulant, but I was grateful for whatever I could get.

"And?" I prompted. Teasing hadn't gone far with Christie in the past, but for some reason, it felt as if we'd set something aside that made it possible now.

She raised her eyebrows, sighing.

"And you have decent taste, I suppose," she admitted. It was hard to stop smiling, hearing that, even if she was laughing at me. I had a feeling that, by the reluctant way she said 'decent,' she really meant 'good', maybe even 'great'.

"You should call in sometime," I said. "Make a request."

She shook her head a little, but she was still smiling.

"Maybe I will," she said, and looked up at me. I knew that she meant it.

* * *

I wanted to kiss her, as I walked her back to the road in the fading light. It felt like everything had gone well. It felt like it was possible.

We paused at the fence, turning toward each other for our good-byes. Her face was half in shadow, her skin glowing pink and gold in the dying sun. I reached out and touched her face, grazing my thumb against her cheek. It was a clear invitation to stop me, and she didn't.

"Can we see each other again?" I asked, tentatively. It felt like everything had gone well, but there were so many other factors to consider.

I wanted to kiss her when she said yes, but the way she looked back at me, her eyes so questioning and fierce, made me hesitate.

She leaned her face into my hand, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

"Okay," she said, softly.

* * *

I turned around to face her as we walked in, and had to stop myself from laughing. She stood with one hand clasping the doorframe, her head hung, panting.

"Oh my God," she said. "_Shtako_. There's like a thousand stairs."

"You get used to it," I said, walking over to my equipment. Christie's eyes followed me uncertainly, trying to track my movements even as she scanned the entire room.

"Are you sure it's safe up here?" she asked, frowning. "I mean, there are pieces missing on the outside, and it seems a little .. structurally unsound."

"Would I bring you somewhere unsafe?" I asked incredulously, and when she didn't answer, I shrugged. "It survived the Pale Wars, right? Just .. don't go back into that corner."

She nodded, letting her attention drift to my haphazard piles of old records.

"So," she began, "Are we here so that you can blow me away with your incredible taste in old Earth music?"

I grinned, sliding a record out from beneath its threadbare cover. The colors had long faded, and the cardboard was crumbling off at the corners.

"I _could_ do that," I said, "But instead, I thought .. maybe you'd like a little dance lesson."

Immediately, her skepticism was back in full force.

"I feel like it's a little early for me to be embracing any Castithan traditions," she said wryly. "No offense."

"Awe, come on, Christie," I said, walking back over to her. The needle clicked on behind me. "I'll show you the Casti way, and then you can show me how to dance like a human. We'll both learn something new."

She shook her head slightly, as if she couldn't believe what she was doing. Ultimately, she gave me a small smile.

"Fine," she said. "But don't you dare make fun of me."

"Never," I said, returning the smile. I stepped forward again so that there were only a few feet between us.

"Okay," I said. I looked down into her face, her eyes wide and uncertain, her lips parted. So dark and pretty. "Think of yourself as a mirror."

"A mirror?" she questioned.

"Yes," I said again. "The man leads, and the woman follows him, complements him."

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

"I'm not sure I'm liking this," she said, her smile fading a bit.

"It's a traditional _Castithan_ dance," I retorted. "Don't look at me like I made it up. I mean, I try not to read into it. I just like how .. how it makes me feel."

"How does it make you feel?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

I thought for a moment.

"Connected. Like someone is with me, every step."

"Huh," Christie said. She seemed to gather her resolve, lifting her head a little higher. "Okay. I'm ready."

"So," I explained, "If I do this –" I reached forward with my left arm, letting my hand cup the air like a wine glass, "Then you do the same. But reach your hand back."

She copied my movement, watching my eyes for approval.

"Good," I said, though in truth it had been slightly awkward. "In a club, you would probably be a beat behind me. But if it were a ritual dance, you would know what movements to anticipate, and we would be in perfect sync."

"I think I'm getting it," Christie began. "But does that mean .. that you never touch your partner?"

"Well, yes," I answered, not sure what to make exactly of the disappointment in her voice. "Dancing is generally very .. public."

She seemed to consider this, biting her lip as she gazed off toward the spinning record. The song was dying down. Then she turned her eyes back to mine.

"My turn to be teacher," she said. "Could you put on another song like that? A slower one?"

"Sure," I said. I felt a little apprehensive, but also terribly intrigued. Up until now, it had been a victory just to have a successful conversation with her.

"All right," she began, as I stood in front of her again, ready for anything. "So, as you know, humans like to touch when we dance."

I grinned, thinking of all the human couples I'd seen at the Need/Want. Particularly toward the end of the evening, it was hard to understand why some hadn't just rented rooms upstairs.

"Castithans like touching too," I said, failing to edit the approval from my voice. "Just not .. quite so openly."

She cleared her throat, continuing.

"What you need to understand is that human dancing is .. very diverse," she went on. Her voice was low and serious, though I swore I heard something playful lingering beneath her words. "What you might see at the Need/Want, when you're drunk and .. that's just _one_ form of dancing."

"Understood," I said, and I began to genuinely feel curious.

"So," she finished. "I'm going to show you a more formal type of dance."

_Pity_, I thought, until she stepped forward and laced the fingers of her right hand through mine.

"Now," she said, "I put my hand on your shoulder." And she did, tentatively, as though the slightest pressure would bruise me.

"And you put your hand on my back." She waited, and I moved my arm around her shoulder, settling it just beneath her shoulderblades.

She paused for a second, then shook her head.

"No," she said. "Lower."

I held in my breath for a second, sliding my hand down until it cupped the small of her back. She nodded, and her sudden silence made me wonder if she was having trouble breathing too.

"Good," she said. "Now I'll lead, because I'm teaching you. Although, typically the guy would lead."

_Not so different from Castithan dancing_, I thought, remembering how sour she'd become during my lesson. Then she pushed me forward slightly, and I awkwardly stepped back.

"Just move your feet along with mine," she said, and I tried. It seemed as if we found a rhythm – we would flow and pause, flow and pause. Much more structured than what I was used to.

She stopped, lifting our clasped hands together.

"Now you can spin me around," she said, lifting my hand higher. I had no idea what she meant, and she waited a moment before doing it herself, twirling away from me and outstretching the arm that had rested on my shoulder.

"And then I can come back," she said, and she did, but instead of stopping at her previous position, she twirled in further so that my arm wrapped around her, and her back was resting against my chest.

"I like this," I said, leaning down to speak the words into her neck. She froze, then discreetly untangled herself.

"You'll never see _that_ at the Need/Want," she said, and all at once she seemed flustered, embarrassed. "Not unless some human couple gets married there."

"That was a wedding dance?" I asked. I immediately fought not to read into this realization.

"No," she said, and it was obvious now. Her cheeks were warm and flushed. "Not really. I mean, there's no _one_ wedding dance."

"I could teach you the traditional Castithan wedding dance," I said, offering a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. "But then we'd be here all night."

She returned the smile half-heartedly, but said nothing.

"Maybe," I said, stepping toward her again, "Maybe one of these days we should dance together at the Need/Want. We could practice. Show everyone up."

I took her hand, placing it on my shoulder, and she slid back into the human dance position she had taught me. I'd forgotten the footwork already, so I just shifted in circles. It felt good to take her hand, and better that she let me do it so easily, holding it tightly as if I had any intention of letting it go.

"It's hard to see that happening," she said, her voice low and soft. A little sad, maybe.

"It was hard to see this happening," I offered.

"True," she said, lifting her brown eyes. And then she rose up on her toes and kissed me.

It was a demure kiss, soft and tentative. I was so fixated by the feel of her lips against mine that I forgot to move for a moment, but then I was kissing her back, slipping my hands over her waist and pulling her in against me.

I kissed her again and again, sure that it never had to stop.

* * *

I don't know whether to apologize for all the fluff or tell you to enjoy it while you can. The next chapter will be very different. Thank you again for your kind reviews! They really make my day!


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer_: I do not own nor did I create the characters or the world of Defiance. I'm just playing with them for fun, and not for profit.

_Author's Note_: I'm not dead. I just work 60 hours a week. I've been sitting on this chapter for a while now – it's so weird to read your own writing after a bunch of time has passed. I'm hoping that I can find some extra time to finish this story without another long wait – I really need to write more, in any case. I'll try my best …

* * *

I froze when I saw Alak. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised – it was a small town, and there were only a handful of things to do on any given weekday. Browsing at the market was one of them. It just seemed that, now that I was consciously trying to avoid being seen with him, I was seeing him everywhere.

Realizing I was staring, I lowered my gaze, trying to gracefully side-step behind a rack of scarves. In another world, I would've approached him, maybe even touched his arm, smiled at him. Sadly, we were firmly in Defiance, where the only thing stranger than a young human girl and a Castithan boy being lovers would be being friends.

I pretended to browse through a rack of old clothes, catching glimpses of him in the spaces between the garments. He found some old records half-hidden under a display of sunglasses, and the smile that lit up his face was like a punch in the gut, knocking out my breath momentarily.

It was frightening, to be seized by an emotion that was so entirely consuming, if only for a moment. I hadn't intended for this. I suppose I had thought that we'd 'get to know each other,' that I'd come to some logical conclusion about his character before I would grow to care about him. I thought that when I kissed him, I would feel something physical, and instead it had been like a switch flipping on inside me. I was all urges, yearning to touch him and discover him even as I fought myself for control.

And now I was the instrument of my own torture, because I'd insisted, in an increasingly rare moment of clarity, that we shouldn't see each other for 'a while'. By this I meant a perfectly reasonable week.

"I'm free tomorrow," he'd murmured, kissing me again. It had been so hard to stop, as if the kisses all melted into each other, only briefly interrupted by words.

But if we saw each other too often, I'd thought, someone would surely notice. So I'd said a week, and it had been a long week, a week where the radio had become a lifeline and showers took forever because I kept losing my train of thought.

I was walking toward him before I even realized it, but I had the sense at least to be coy, drifting toward him innocently as I pretended to browse a haphazard path of goods.

I was about ten feet away when he finally glanced up from the vinyl and noticed me. His eyes widened briefly, then shot back down to the record in his hand. I smiled a little to myself – it was ironic that he was following the rules I had insisted on even as I broke them myself.

Feigning sudden disinterest, I turned and left the stall, walking slowly and deliberately. When I had crossed the street, I looked back casually over my shoulder and caught his eye. We watched each other for a moment.

Then I slipped into the alleyway.

I laced my way in until I found a broad expanse of brick wall, then leaned against it, breathing out hard. I didn't know what I was doing, which was exhilarating, but more than a little unnerving as well.

I waited, and for a few minutes I thought my impulsive plan hadn't worked. I considered sneaking back out, but all at once his silhouette was framed in the alley entrance and he was quickly sneaking back as well, his monochrome clothing shifting dark grey in the shadows.

He approached me, and I realized that I hadn't planned for anything beyond this moment.

"Christie?" he asked. He looked genuinely confused, which always pleased a part of me. I remembered his capacity to be a little arrogant. "What are you doing in an alley?"

"Luring you down it, evidently," I said. I smiled, but found myself ducking my head down, a little embarrassed. I was going for sexy, but worried I'd hit on desperate instead.

He stared at me for a moment, then grinned. He was amused, but in a good way. Even as I felt relieved, I also felt the blush in my cheeks burn harder.

"So," he said, closing the gap between us and stuffing his hands inside his jacket pockets, "Did you .. need to tell me something?"

Again I felt at a loss. I looked up at him, taking in his warm, effortless smile. I realized that the way he looked down at me was the way he looked at a new record, but it wasn't brief. It was suspended, like a look of unending pleasant surprise.

I reached out and yanked him forward by a fistful of his jean jacket, and not quite as gently as I had intended. I had time to enjoy the fleeting expression of shock on his face, and then I slid my fingertips under his jawline, drawing down his chin. I had to – he was so tall. But he bent forward instinctively, and I kissed him, a little desperately at first, pressing my lips against his as if they would disappear any moment. Then I pulled back, and kissed him again more tenderly.

He brushed the hair back from my cheeks, smiling just slightly. He looked as dazed as I felt.

"So," he said, a little hesitantly, "Is it safe to say that you missed me?"

I raised an eyebrow, though it seemed impossible to frown. Kissing was one thing, but words were more serious.

"It's safe to say that you'll see me on Saturday," I said, the slightest hint of warning in my voice.

My hands had dropped to his chest, and I pressed my fingertips into the warm fabric of his shirt one last time, almost sighing. It was hard to look him in the eye, to see where uncertainty had sunk into his features. But I wouldn't make promises I wasn't sure I could keep.

"Wait a few minutes until after I leave, before you go," I said, looking away. I turned and walked out again into the street, blinking at the harsh sunlight. I could feel the kiss lingering on my mouth, and my chest was suddenly heavy, tense with both longing and doubt.

I needed a drink.

* * *

The Need/Want was deserted at this time in the afternoon, which was a blessing. I made my way to the end of the bar, hoping to be inconspicuous. I just wanted a quiet place to think.

I ordered a drink only to stare down into it. It seemed that the more I tried to think about Alak, the more that I just _felt_. I felt hollow. I couldn't decide if it was because I kept pulling away from him, or because I'd let him get this close to me in the first place.

"What's wrong?" a voice said. I looked up, and was shocked to see Kenya Rosewater standing in front of me with her arms folded over the bar. It was her place, of course, but I rarely saw her except from a distance.

"Nothing," I said, trying to laugh a little, throw her off. I lowered my eyes from her bold make-up. Even though I tried to keep an open mind about these things, my father had made it clear what he thought of her profession, and how I was supposed to stay away from it. "Just .. needed a place to think for a while."

"Interesting," she said, her face eerily serious. "Most people don't come here to think."

It was a strange way to introduce yourself to someone. I wondered if I really seemed that pathetic, sitting here all alone.

"Small town," I offered. "There aren't that many options."

"Is Alak Tarr fucking with you?" she asked.

I coughed, immediately raising my drink. I took a thick sip, letting the liquid burn down my throat before I attempted answering.

"Excuse me?" I asked. I hated that my voice sounded so suddenly high-pitched.

"Has he been bothering you?" she asked again. This time, I heard the slightest note of concern in her voice, and I dared to look up and meet her gaze. Her dark eyes were still grave, but they had softened a little.

"No," I said, quietly. A sense of dread was growing in my stomach. "You .. you saw us together?"

"I saw him talking to you, and you telling him to leave you alone," she said, simply.

"It's okay," I said. I tried to sound confident, maybe even a little bit upbeat. "We've just been .. talking."

"Talking," she repeated. "So you two are .. friends, then."

I took another long sip of my drink.

"And Alak has nothing to do with why you've wandered into my bar in the middle of the day?" she questioned. The feeling of panic in my gut was only continuing to grow. If she had noticed, how many other people had?

"I guess I'm just confused," I said. I regretted the words even as I said them, but until then, I hadn't realized how badly I'd needed to talk to someone. "About him. He's like .. he's .."

"A Casti?" she offered. It seemed sarcastic, but underneath her tone was solemn.

I took in a deep breath. My family hated Castithans, my friends were at the very least suspicious of them. Kenya Rosewater could very well be the only person I could talk to who knew some personally. Granted, as her _clientele_, but still.

"Would you trust a Castithan man?" I asked. I swallowed hard. I hadn't tried hard enough to mask the anxiety in my voice.

She leaned forward, locking her eyes with mine.

"That depends," she said, pursing her brilliant red lips. "Trust them to do what?"

I hesitated, flustered. For the second time today, I felt myself blushing hard.

"Be good to you?" I questioned.

This seemed to take her back a little. She thought for a moment, her perpetual frown wavering a little.

"I think you and I have different ideas about what that means," she said, a little dryly. "But I don't know Alak Tarr. I've never known him to cause trouble in my bar, but then, that doesn't say much."

I lowered my eyes into my drink again. I felt stupid, talking with a complete stranger about a situation that was, in itself, so strange. At the same time, though, it felt good to hear from a woman who wasn't a romantic.

She seemed to take in my silence thoughtfully, eying me up and down with a kind of bemused, half-hidden curiosity.

"Tell me what you like about him," she said, her voice a little gentler than before.

My cheeks were already burning, but I took in a breath, steadying myself. I wanted to be honest.

"I don't _know_, exactly," I said. "He can be so arrogant. I swear he hasn't been told 'no' much in his life, especially by women."

I thought of the meek Castithan girl he'd chosen to randomly dance with, just to toy with me, and it soured the thought more.

"Go on," Kenya encouraged, tilting her head slightly to the side in consideration.

"But he also doesn't seem to want anything from me," I said. "He just listens. And when we talk, he seems so .. genuine. I know who his father is, but sometimes, when he talks about music, he just seems so .. naïve. Like he just wants to live his life and lose himself in his music and his art and just .. be."

"I know who his father is, too," she said, and her grim tone returned for a brief moment. "The more important thing is how well you know yourself. Your ability to judge."

I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just stared back at her, feeling meek by comparison.

"It's what I have to do every day, as a woman," she said, smiling a little, but darkly. "To keep myself safe."

"So what should I do?" I asked. I gripped my drink with sudden apprehension – on some level, I realized that I was afraid of the advice she might give me.

"Don't be afraid to trust yourself," she said, slowly. "But give it time, before you trust him."

I fell silent again. I wasn't entirely sure what this meant, and while I appreciated her quip about trusting myself, I felt like I had been looking for a different, more reassuring answer.

Maybe I was right to be a little afraid.

"Or," she said. "You know what the Castis say. Seeming is being."

I felt my mouth fall open a little as she smiled at me, a real smile, controlled but genuine.

"Here," she said, lifting up a bottle from behind the bar. "I think you need another shot. On the house."

* * *

By the time I left the Need/Want, I had that slightly vague feeling in my head that you get when you are just recently sober. I felt heavy and tired, but I didn't feel like walking into the house with alcohol on my breath, unlikely as it was that I would run into my father or brothers immediately.

I decided to stroll the market again, quieter now and free of the unavoidable distraction that was Alak. The sun was setting, and the makeshift roofs and banners of the various stalls cast grey and orange shadows over the street.

I found myself drawn to a booth with Castithan items, its pale fabrics and beaded charms difficult to see in the fading light. The merchant eyed me suspiciously as I drifted inside, narrowing his eyes, but said nothing. Of course I felt unwelcome, but then the veils and talismans had become more alluring to me, like I'd developed a sudden nostalgia for them. The feeling made it worth the discomfort, for the moment.

I rubbed the pendant of a necklace between my thumb and forefinger, wondering what kind of stone it was. I was about to set it back, but then I felt an uneasy sensation come over me, like I was being watched closely. I turned, fully expecting the shopkeeper.

It wasn't him. It was a Castithan boy, my age, maybe older. He was close to me, so close that I took a step back in surprise.

"Wondering how it would look on you?" he asked. He was tall, like Alak, and his hair was undyed. It fell down to his shoulders in lank, loosely curled rivulets, as if it were unwashed. He was smiling, but not in a kind way.

"It's pretty," I said, and immediately put it back. I lowered my eyes and tried to step past him, pretending to continue browsing the items, but he followed my movements and blocked me.

"It is," he said. "A little exotic for you, though, isn't it?"

I couldn't read his voice. I thought he must be mocking me, but then he paused as if to wait for my answer.

"It's getting dark," I said. I stepped forward, expecting him to let me pass, but he held his ground. And now we were closer.

"It's okay," he said, his smile broadening in a way that made me slightly nauseous. "I like to try new things, too."

He reached out as if to touch my face, and I took an immediate step back, but he matched me, narrowing the distance even more. I considered simply making a break for the opening of the tent – that was how panicked I felt, that I could simply run – but it was too late. He took hold of my chin.

"You could try me on, if you want," he said. I met his gaze for a moment, bearing down into his eyes as I could burn them out with sheer willpower, and then I tugged my jaw away. He held on.

"What's wrong?" he asked, petulantly, laughing at me. "I thought you wanted a haint!"

"Fuck off!" I hissed, stepping back as I jerked my head. He finally let go, but then, suddenly, I found myself walking backwards into a hanging row of dead animals, like huge rats with thick tails.

A few were knocked off, and one fell onto my shoulder, its bloated body sliding down my bare arm before hitting the ground. My stomach twisted in disgust – I held my arm away from my body, already smelling the half-rotten blood dripping from my skin.

The boy was grinning, all but laughing aloud, and I wished suddenly that I carried a knife. It was a brief thought, because suddenly the shopkeeper was there, cursing and gesturing wildly in Castithan at the bloodied, dead rats in the dust. Finally he switched to English.

"They're _ruined_!" he said, and I wasn't sure how he could sell what had been rotting in the sun all day, anyway, but I held my tongue. "Who is going to pay for this?"

I looked around me. The boy, whoever he was, was gone, but in his place was a growing crowd of Castithans, men and women who had stopped on their way home to see what all the commotion was about. Their faces were blank, their eyes cold.

"I will," I said, suddenly. I pulled a wad of scrip out of my pocket, handing it to him. I needed to get out of here, to run, to breathe. He took it even with the stain of my bloody fingerprints.

Keep my eyes down, I walked toward the crowd, which was already, thankfully, beginning to silently dissipate. One body, though, was stock still. I instinctively looked up to see who it was.

It was Alak. He met my eyes, and I saw that he was furious, and breathing hard. He slowly glanced down at my bloody arm, then back up again to my face.

In that moment, I didn't care who was still watching me.

"Alak!" I said, but he hardly seemed to hear me. He was in another world. I tried to close the distance between us, already thinking the things I would say. _It's okay. It's not my blood._

But he didn't wait for me. He gave me one last fleeting glance, reaching into his pocket as he turned to disappear into the crowd.

* * *

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